Hayley Szmaus
by mermaid-janexo
Summary: I know these have been done a lot and romancehumor basically means crap, but I promise that this story does have potential, and if you read it, you won't be disappointed. Besides, it's a Greg love story . . who doesn't love to read about that?


A/N: I know these have been done way too many times, but I don't blame people for writing them. They're so addictively fun to write. So bare with me... I'll try to make the OC as flawed as humanly possible. 

It was her first day of work that one Monday morning, and of course, her car wouldn't start.

"God, please don't do this to me," She muttered over her failing engine.

On the sixth try, her prayer was answered. Her BMW roared with triumph and she pulled out of her driveway, humming along to her Marilyn Manson CD.

By now, I think you should get an idea of who this mystery girl is. Her name is Hayley Szmaus. Don't bother to try and pronounce it. She's one of those girls who makes you sick at how little she attempts to look good and somehow looks better than you, even though you spent an hour longer getting your hair just right. It was her first day working as a Las Vegas CSI. Heck, it was her first day out of her house in Las Vegas. She just moved from Seattle a week ago, where her place had been taken by her supervisor's daughter. She was happy it was taken. Her supervisor was the worst person she'd ever met. To let your image of this girl driving through Las Vegas for the first time, here's a description of her not-too-shabby appearance. She had rich red hair, a virgin to dying it, green eyes surrounded by make up, fair skin, and a $20 outfit she found searching hours for in vintage stores. A short-sleeved, thin red sweater with a hood over a white tank top and jeans.

An hour later, she hummed her way into a large building that was, apparently, where she was going to work. She walked up to the desk and tapped her fingers on the counter. She always did this when she was nervous.

"Hello Miss, how can I help you?" A friendly lady with too much make up greeted.

"Hi... um... I'm looking for..." She looked at the crinkled paper shaking in her left hand, "Mr. Grissom?"

"Ah... you must be Hayley," The lady said, nodding, "He's right behind you."

Hayley whipped around and came face to face with a grey-haired, middle-aged man, who was staring at her quizzically. She found his stare very strange, especially pairedwith the smirk on his face.

"Hello Ms. . ." He trailed off, staring at her last name on his own slip of paper.

"Szmaus," She finished, "Like moss, but with a 'z' in front."

"Right," Grissom answered, "And call me Grissom."

She smiled, expecting a smile back, but he turned around and walked down the hallway, motioning for her to follow. She ran up to his side, staring curiously at the different rooms. It was so much more up to date than Seattle's crime lab. On one side, she saw the questioning room where the CSIs ask suspects questions, and on the other side, a bunch of different labs. They turned a corner, where they came face to face with three people talking intently about a case. She tried to hear what they were discussing, but they were mumbling. As she and Grissom got closer to the trio, one of them looked up. A man in his late thirties. She smiled uncomfortably and gave a brief, stiff wave.

"Is this the new CSI from Seattle?" He asked Grissom, making the other two CSIs look up.

Grissom nodded.

"Hi, I'm Hayley Szmaus," She said, trying to smile with ease.

"Hayley, this is Nick Stokes, Sara Sidle, and Warrick Brown," Grissom said, pointing to each of them.

"Glad to have a girl join us," Sara said, pulling out a hand for Hayley to shake.

Nick and Warrick gawked atHayleywhile she shook her hand.

"You guys get working on that stripper case," Grissom said, putting a hand on Hayley's back and leading her further down the hallway.

Hayley's ears perked up to the sound of Marilyn Manson music. She glanced at Grissom's disgusted expression and smiled to herself. Finally, another adult who'll listen to some good quality music. They walked into a lab where there was a guy bobbing his head up and down furiously, with a bunch of objects on his head, including a plastic glove hat. Grissom pressed pause on the CD player and Hayley felt a bit disappointed, but very sorry for the man who was lost in the music.

"Greg, what are you doing?" Grissom asked calmly, seeming to enjoy his embarrassment.

He slowly turned around in his chair, taking off the very trendy glove hat and other things with his ears turning red.

"Could've been a rock star," Greg said, making it sound like a reminder. Hayley could tell the same incident had happened before.

He stood up and turned to Hayley, tweezers in hand.

"You must be the model friend of the victim's," He said, plucking out a hair before Hayley could reply, "Thank you."

She rubbed her head where he plucked, "I am not!"

He turned around, ears getting even redder, "Oh..."

"Greg, this is Hayley Szmaus, a former Seattle CSI," Grissom explained.

"Oh," Greg chuckled at his mistake, "Sorry,"

He held out the tweezers where her hair was held.

"Keep it," Hayley said with a hand pushing it away, "I have a feeling you want it more."

Grissom smiled, which Hayley guessed didn't happen very often, because of how he was trying to hide it.

"You'll be working with Greg for a while," Grissom said, "For now, this is your work place. All youhave todo is process DNA for the other CSIs and occasionally you two will get an assignment on the field, working with me."

"Woah, woah, wait," Hayley said quickly, "But I was a Level Two back in Seattle. I always worked out on the field, even by myself half the time."

"For now, prove yourself worthy of this," Grissom said, and walked off.

Hayley sighed and turned to Greg, who was spinning around in his chair, smiling up at Hayley.

"You're pretty," He remarked.

She rolled her eyes, secretly bashful at his comment, and found another chair to sit in, and then remembered the Manson music.

"So... you like Marilyn Manson, huh?" She said.

"He's the greatest," Greg replied, and added quickly, "But we don't have to listen to it if you don't want to. I don't think a girl like you would like something like that."

"Are you kidding me?" Hayley laughed, "I love his music!Marilyn himself freaks me out, but I love how he doesn't care what people think about him. He has his own little category of music, and it's the best."

Greg looked at her with interest, smiled,and said, "I have a feeling this won't be so bad after all."

Hayley chuckled (A/N: I hate to use the word giggle), swinging to the same rhythm of Greg's chair with her's, not wanting to take her eyes off of his.

_He's_ kinda _cute . . in a geeky lab rat scientist kind of way_, Hayley thought.

"Greg, I need you to process this," A new voice Hayley had never heard before entered the room. It seemed flustered and professional. Like 'I'm a bitch, so don't mess with me' kind of sound to it.

Hayley whirled around a saw a woman about the same age as Grissom, with strawberry blond hair and a good-looking face. She seemed surprised by the site of a newbie, but shesmiled.And it wasn't a good smile.

"I'm the new CSI, Hayley Szmaus," she said, standing up so she could introduce herself properly.

"Well, I'm Catherine Willows," she answered, studying every square inch of Hayley. It was a bad feeling, being judged by your appearance and knowing it while it happens.

"Nice hair," Catherine said, "It's like mine, except natural. And nice sweater. I'll be borrowing it, just so you know."

"Um... excuse me?" Hayley said, laughing nervously and taking a step back.

"Well, you're like a fifteen-year-younger version of me, except without the whole past stripper part," Catherine said, "But you used to dance, didn't you?"

"Uh..." Hayley was taken aback by this comment, "How'd you know?"

"Dancers' leg muscles are long and lean and filled with muscle," Catherine explained.

Hayley laughed, "Right."

"Which dance classes?" Catherine asked, smiling.

"Just about everything," Hayley replied, "But mostly ballet, since I was six. I still do it."

"Really..." Catherine said, and her eyes drifted to Greg, who was clearly eavesdropping, "Be careful with Greg. You'll have fun with him now, but sooner or later, he'll be asking for your DNA and admiring your epithelials (A/N: I don't know how to spell it)."

Hayley laughed, assuming–and hoping–this was a joke.

"Hopeless romantic, that one is," Catherine added in a whisper, and walked off, giving the un-analyzed evidence in her hand to Hayley.

Hayleymuttered, loud enough for only herself to hear, "My favourite."


End file.
